Humanity
by Simone Robinson
Summary: "When the men had left and Dr.Marco slumped against the wall, Roy lay alone in the bed. Unconscious, breathing strained, an oxygen mask strapped to his face.And Riza was left wondering what had happened. Wondering what had happened to the world and its people." War can be a cruel and unforgiving place. Bleeding and supporting her wounded superior, Riza finds this out the hard way.


**Humanity**

* * *

She didn't trust the hospital. Riza had never trusted the rooms with white wash walls, sterile linen, the clicks, pops and rings of the medical world. Even now, with the sticky residue of blood soaking her neck, her collar, she did not give in. The wound had been sealed well enough, and that was plenty for her.

Her wound didn't matter. Not while she ground her feet into the dirt, staggering beneath the weight of Roy Mustang. The colonel. Her superior.

"Colonel! Pull yourself together!" He voice was harsh and clipped. It masked her heartache, her fear, her guilt. It masked them well. It kept the cold, detached veil of the military intact.

"Ah…apologies, Lieutenant." Roy's chest heaved and trembled with effort. His hair, a polished black, clung to his face. His eyes were open, but they stared blankly. His eyes had always been so alive. Even while he remained stoic and hard to outsiders, as a Colonel should look, his eyes were always alight with intelligence, humor, cold calculations and affection. Life.

Now the rich black depth of his eyes had dimmed. A washed out grey, dull and lifeless. And it was as if shutters had slammed behind the iris.

Was this the result of the world's humanity? The quality or condition of being human? Was it humane to march into this war? The gas, the bullets, things crafted to cause terrible pain, and hurt… Where these things humane?

Stumbling under the weight of her wounded leader, Riza didn't think so.

***0***

"Fucking _move_, Roy!" Riza cradled his head in her hands, her breath coming in bursts, ragged and raw, "Roy!"

Her façade was cracking, her stoic surety faltering.

Not the Colonel. He was invincible, fearless, the visionary of the nation. Their leader. He was going to become Fuhrer one day, when they had stopped Bradley's plot. He, the Flame Alchemist, could not go down so easily.

His face felt flushed beneath her hands, red and inflamed with fever. A clammy sweat soaked his brow, and his hair clung to his skin, damp, slicked. He hung limp, but unlike a broken doll, his limbs were tight with tension.

Riza swallowed.

"Just relax Colonel. Just relax."

The sentiments sounded hollow in her ears, torn from her throat in a vain attempt to rouse him.

Was this how Ed had felt? Dragging a suit of armor and screaming at the top of his lungs, for the Gate of Truth to just give his little brother _back_?

Roy groaned, a low sound from the back of his throat, as his head thrashed, trying in vain for some kind of relief from the pain.

***0***

Panting. Breathing hard. Feeling the unbearable tightness suddenly burst, then deflate, his chest. One sharp needle and blood had been drawn. Another jab of the needle and the IV was in place.

Roy's frame, wry and strong, jerked and writhed in the middle of the bed, shaking as he battled with some unseen force. His pale cheeks were on fire, sweat rolling down his limbs. His chest appeared concave as he gasped and heaved for breath.

In the confusion, someone was shouting, "Temp 102, heart rate 150!"

was already barking out commands, "I need morphine, cold compresses and TPN nutrition. Move!"

The first few times that Riza had been through this, she had trembled uncontrollably. Now, she watched, as grim faced as the veteran she was, as two men struggled to pin Roy's writhing body to the bed. The tendons in his neck bulged, taunt and tense, stretching like wires from beneath his jaw, into his shoulders. To Riza, they looked like they were about to snap. Two men sliced off his shirt, slapping on wires for the heart monitor.

Roy screamed in pain, a raw, strangled sound, and the men held him down harder.

It was an upwards struggle against the gas that ravaged his lungs, and attacked the tissue of his Pancreas. Riza didn't pretend to know the details. She was no medic. She just watched, as Roy, the strong Colonel of the forces, struggled for his life, no more powerful than a child, his body wracked with fever and pain. His eyes were glazed. The polished, clear black of his irises, now a cloudy grey.

Afterwards, when the worst had finally passed, when Riza had not known how much more the Colonel would be able to take... it ended. When the men had left and slumped against the wall, Roy lay alone in the bed. Unconscious, breathing strained, an oxygen mask strapped to his face.

And Riza was left wondering what had happened. Wondering what had happened to the world, to its people.

This was humanity. All beings collectively. The human race, humankind. Humanity was fighting. Humanity was killing and waging wars. Humanity was letting children be slaughtered for crimes they did not commit. Humanity was cutting down good men. One wrong move had landed Roy in that bed, fighting for his life. Humanity didn't care.

For that was the quality and condition of being human. That was human nature.

And Riza saw now, that humanity in its purest form, in the quality of being human, benevolent and kind…

… was long gone.


End file.
